


Of Love & La Villanelle II: Villaneve En Vogue

by killingsaray



Series: Love Is Always In Style [2]
Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:22:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24446524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killingsaray/pseuds/killingsaray
Summary: Even fashion wives who seem to have it all fuck up sometimes.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Series: Love Is Always In Style [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1716889
Comments: 47
Kudos: 438





	1. Breakfast Blues

**Author's Note:**

> fashion wives are back! happy first birthday to Of Love & La Villanelle!

* * *

_"The more you praise and celebrate your life, the more there is in life to celebrate."_

_-Oprah Winfrey_

* * *

_Thursday, July 18th_

“Take it!” Villanelle huffed. Her face was red. Sweat dripped from her forehead to her ample chest. She grinned and huffed and gave it everything she had. Her goal was so close she could feel it and with every passing second, it got closer and closer. 

“Take it all!” She growled through clenched teeth. Just a little… bit… more and—.

‘ _Mile three, complete._ ”

Villanelle slammed her hand against the stop button on her treadmill and as it slowed to a halt, she allowed it to slide her backward to the edge before she hopped off. 

She fucking _hated_ working out, but it was a better outlet for her frustration than using her assistant as an emotional punching bag. And speaking of which—.

“No, Audrey, take the _entire_ shipment of the fabrics to the warehouse. I do not care what the foreman there says,“ she paused as she listened to Audrey’s response, “No. Tell him I will cut off his penis and feed it to him if there are any more delays.” Shaking her head as if Audrey could see her, Villanelle cut her assistant off mid-sentence. “This is so important, please just... get it done.”

Stressed didn’t begin to cover how Villanelle felt lately. Overwhelmed was better. She had so much to accomplish in the next twenty-four hours and one more goddamned _man_ tried to tell her what she could and could not do, she was going to end up in the darkest cell in the grossest prison that Russia had to offer. 

As Villanelle luxuriated in the shower of her and Eve’s new London home, she took a moment to reminisce on what a difference a year made. The launch of La Villanelle had been a success and Villanelle had been catapulted into the spotlight of luxury fashion design. She found herself partying with DJs that she used to add to her playlists. She was commissioned by celebrities for all types of events: galas, restaurant openings, holiday parties, award shows. Her face graced magazine covers and her designs were in nearly every fashion bible on coffee tables around the world. Not to mention, she and Eve were still blissfully married despite their ridiculous work schedules. 

_Eve_. 

Eve had opened Genesis as a small boutique shop in the heart of The Village at Westfield but within months, her revenue and traffic were too much for the small storefront. She was practically forced to move to Bond Street, which was home to some of the world’s most prestigious retailers. Not long after, she signed a deal with Harrods where her designs were to be sold as well. Eve was so at home in the design world and she had slipped so seamlessly back into the insanity of product launches, fashion weeks, warehouse management, and even overstock inventory. Not to mention, she managed to flit from party to event to award shows for designers, supporting everyone, and most importantly loving and supporting Villanelle. 

The couple had taken time for vacations and long weekends, vowing to turn off their phones —though that was rare, but their assistants bothered them as less as possible— and enjoying lots of good food, great drinks, and incredible sex. They were the ultimate fashion wives and their names had even been married together to create what the kids called ‘a ‘ship name’ _—something that Villanelle was very proud of, thanks very much!_ — though Eve thought it sounded like the name of a villain in a cartoon. 

“...and since Mo is taking my car to be maintenanced, I’ll take Villanelle’s car to the Vogue Italia thing.”

Villanelle’s ears perked up. Eve was on the phone while brushing teeth. She tapped on the glass shower door with her fingernail. Eve looked up at her in the mirror, fluffy white foam coating her mouth as she smiled at the blonde. Villanelle blew her breath along the glass and wrote _KISS?_ with her finger. Eve rinsed her mouth out, still talking to whoever it was on the phone as she crossed the room. Villanelle opened the door to the enormous shower, her nipples hardening at the gust of cool air. She leaned down, wet hair, and Eve kissed her. 

“Mm. Good morning,” Eve murmured then lifted the phone back to her ear, “Not you, Elena. I’m talking to Villanelle. Elena says hi.”

“Hello, Elena!” Villanelle shouted as if her lips weren’t inches from the phone. Eve stifled a laugh and pressed a hand against her wet chest, trying to push her back into the shower. Villanelle grabbed her and pulled a pajama-clad _Eve_ into the shower instead, careful not to completely soak her with the water spray. She kissed Eve’s neck and Eve gave Elena some sort of half-assed hum of an answer. Villanelle turned to the glass again, blew hot air against it, and drew _FUCK?_ in the condensation. 

“Elena, I have to go. Villanelle is naked. I’ll see you this weekend” She abruptly ended the call, tossed her phone out of the door, and grabbed Villanelle’s face, kissing her roughly. “I have ten minutes.”

“You have as long as I need to make you come twice.”

“Oo,” Eve exclaimed, cheekily, “top Villanelle, my favorite.”

“Shut up.”

* * *

Twenty-two minutes behind schedule, thanks to Villanelle Astankova, Eve rushed around the kitchen with her assistant, Mo, on speakerphone, making toast to take with her to lunch. 

“Villanelle, I need your car keys!” She yelled as she buttered the hot bread. When no answer came, she yelled again, “Babe! I need your—.”

“Car keys, yes, I heard you,” Villanelle said, swaggering into the kitchen in a white, silk polka-dot top and canary yellow textured trouser, key fob dangling from the two fingers she’s used to fingerfuck Eve not even an hour again. She put it on the counter next to Eve’s phone and kissed her cheek.

Eve held up a slice of toast and Villanelle shook her head so Eve bit into it herself. 

“Hello, Mo!” Villanelle hollered into the phone and Eve actually did laugh at that time. 

“Villanelle, always a pleasure,” Mo responded, tightly. It was _never_ a pleasure between those two. Their love-hate relationship was more hate than love because of her casual insults about his wardrobe and his posh, British disdain for all things Russian. Usually, though, after a few drinks and good food, the two would be discussing the politics of fashion and celebrity, albeit loudly, by the end of the night. 

“Yes, for you.” She replied.

Mo scoffed lightly. “Eve, I will meet you at the office in thirty minutes. You’ll have the meeting with the group from Harrods. We can’t let it run for longer than forty-five minutes and then we really need to head to Hanover Square for the Vogue Italia interview.”

“I thought the interview was Monday and the shoot is today.”

“No,” Mo replied simply. And who was Eve to argue? She would forget her head if it wasn’t screwed on properly. 

“Fine. I’ll be there in thirty.”

“Fine. What is the plan for tomorrow?” Mo asked.

Villanelle, who had started to open the refrigerator, froze for half of a second.

“Your spa appointment is booked for eleven, would you like me to call and add any services.”

“Uh, I don’t know. I don’t want to take too long. Did you have anything planned, Vill?” Eve asked, turning to look at Villanelle, who had pulled out a pre-packaged fruit salad and ate silently at the kitchen island. She looked up at the sound of her name. The blonde shrugged her shoulders, made a face of indifference, and shook her head. 

Eve blinked at her, brows furrowed before turning back to the phone. “I guess a manicure and pedicure, too.”

“Done.” 

“Yeah, maybe one for yourself, Mo. I can’t imagine what those toes look like.”

“Much lovelier than you, Villanelle.”

Suddenly, Villanelle was behind her, gasping dramatically for Mo’s benefit, before kissing Eve’s cheek and then her lips. “I have to go. I will be late. Shipment issue at the warehouse.”

“Everything okay?”

“Oh, it will be when I am done.”

“Don’t kill anyone,” Eve said.

“I make no promises. Do you hear that, Mo?! No promises!”

“I would welcome someone putting me out of the misery that is knowing you.” He quipped back. Villanelle grinned as if she’d won and with that, she was gone.

Eve scoffed. “Unbelievable.”

“What’s that?”

“Tomorrow is my fiftieth birthday, and she has absolutely no plans. I mean, I know we’re busy but—.” Eve sighed. She was frustrated. Angry, even. Mostly, she was hurt. It wasn’t Eve’s favorite milestone to celebrate, but still, it was an important one. _How could Villanelle forget her 50th birthday?_ For fuck’s sake, Villanelle remembered that Vogue Italia was writing a piece on her all week, but she couldn’t even be bothered to remember that it was for their 50th anniversary issue? 

In a tone that dripped in pity, Mo inquired, “Want me to pick you up one of those pastries you like from the cart?”

“Yes.”

“Done. See you thirty.”

  
  



	2. Journalism Is Dead

_ Eve _

“So, Eve, you have re-entered the fashion world and blown the competition away, all while being a newlywed. How do you manage it all?”

The Vogue Italia headquarters was a bustling hive of editors, interns and photojournalists, alike. With deadlines looming over them and barely any time to stop for longer than it took to down a cup of coffee, people had breezed past Eve is a flurry of activity. She and Mo were led to a conference room by an intern who barely looked Eve in her face, despite gushing about how she owned a few items from Eve’s store, Genesis. 

Shortly after, Eve was introduced to Hélène, the woman who would be interviewing Eve. She took Eve to the rooftop of the building which had been converted into a serenity garden of sorts, that overlooked the bustling city below. Hélène explained that it was a place for their employees to come when they were stressed. 

“Honestly, it’s not hard when you have an incredible support system. From my wife and parents to the family of employees who run the day to day operations of Genesis, I surround myself with people who want to see me succeed as well as succeed themselves. It’s a win-win.” As Eve spoke, Hélène wrote down a few notes.

“That’s amazing. Speaking of your wife, she is one of the hottest designers in the fashion world right now. Is there any friendly competition when it comes to your opposing clothing lines?”

“Actually no. Villanelle is one of the most brilliant designers I know. She has such an eye for great pieces so if anything she helps when I’m trying to decide where I want to go with a certain shirt or pair of pants.”

“It’s interesting that you mention that. There have been a few critics who felt like your fall-winter designs had a very  _ La Villanelle _ feel to them. What do you think about that?”

“They’re probably right. If they see something that seems to be inspired by Villanelle, then it probably was. My last collection was actually an open anniversary gift to my wife.”

Hélène gave Eve a sickly sweet smile as she jotted down a few more notes on the legal pad in front of her. “That is adorable. Is there any chance that the fans of your fashion wives romance will be rewarded with a collaboration between you and Villanelle?”

Eve smiled and shrugged nonchalantly. “I guess they’ll just have to wait and see.”

Eve was outwardly polite during the remainder of the interview, but she was troubled by something. The feature she was supposed to be interviewed for was “Making A Fashion Comeback In Your 50s”, yet Hélène had hardly asked any questions pertaining to Eve’s age. Nor did she ask about Eve’s history with fashion and design. Majority of the questions had more to do with Villanelle than anything. 

_ Why didn’t you just ask Villanelle to do this interview? _ , Eve thought halfway through. Most likely because Villanelle didn’t really do interviews. She didn’t really do press, in general.

What was even more depressingly hysterical to Eve was that while Hélène was asking about Villanelle in an interview that should’ve been about Eve turning fifty, Villanelle, herself, had seemingly forgotten Eve’s birthday as well.

* * *

_ Villanelle _

The warehouse that once housed the cloned product created by Villanelle Astankova was empty of all merchandise. Once filled with boxes of shipments to be processed, Villanelle had other plans for the expansive space. So, she’d had her assistant Audrey make sure the clothing had been moved from one warehouse to another in preparation.

“I want parquet laid down in this section here,” Villanelle gestured to an area of flooring, and then up towards the second level, “Stage there. Bar there, and another down here towards the west wall.”

“What about bathrooms?”

“The bathrooms here will not do. I will do luxury tented bathrooms outside, and we will need two staff members to do constant cleaning. Maybe a local janitorial service that is not doing very well right now. Pay them double their current rate and make sure they are dressed appropriately.”

Audrey used her finger to type everything down on the iPad in her hand.

“Have you decided on the menu?” Audrey asked.

“Yes. I sent the updated options to your email. You’ll need to send it to the catering company well before noon, so that nothing is missed.”

As they spoke, Villanelle led Audrey around the warehouse, pointing to things that needed to be hidden or moved completely in order for her to achieve the ambiance that she had in mind.

“Where are we with security and the fire safety officers?”

“We have two bouncers at each exit, they’ll use the iPads to keep a count. As guests enter, they’ll be checked off of the list that is automatically updated on everyone’s iPad. The fire safety officer went through the warehouse today and gave your foreman a list of things that need to be done before the event.”

Villanelle whirled around, forcing Audrey to stop abruptly to avoid bumping into her. “And where is he with that list?”

“Almost finished. He’ll be done before we leave.”

“Excellent.” 

They did one last walkthrough to make sure Audrey had a list of everything that needed to be done before the next day. Once she was satisfied, Villanelle sighed and they headed to their cars in the parking lot.

“One last thing,” Villanelle mentioned. Audrey held open her car door and waited for her boss to continue. “Do you think it is too much? Is it too…  _ me _ ?”

Audrey deciphered what Villanelle was really asking. “She’s going to love it, Villanelle. When I turn fifty, if my significant other doesn’t surprise me by turning a warehouse into my own personal nightclub for a night and inviting all of my friends that I haven’t seen in forever, then I want a refund.”

Villanelle chuckled. “Good.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Villanelle.”

And with that, they got into their separate cars and headed off.

* * *

_ Eve and Villanelle _

The sun was just setting by the time Villanelle got home, arriving a mere seven minutes after Eve. It was nice running their own companies, but when they got married, Eve and Villanelle made a promise to one another that if they weren’t separated by travel, they were to be home to have dinner with each other every night. So far, both of them had kept their promise. 

Villanelle came in through the garage door, dropping her keys on the kitchen counter. Eve was standing at the kitchen island, opening up a bag of takeout, when Villanelle laughed. She turned around to see Villanelle holding up a bag that Eve assumed was also carryout.

“Thai,” the blonde announced.

Eve summoned her best Vanna White impression, hands displaying the brown bag theatrically and replied, “Vietnamese.”

Villanelle grinned and handed the bag over to her wife, kissing her twice in the process. She rounded the marble island and opened the cupboard, retrieving plates for them. They maneuvered around the kitchen, working in perfect harmony until they were seated at the dinner table with their plates and glasses of wine.

“I would have never thought to mix  _ gaeng daeng _ with  _ banh mi _ .”

“It should be a sin that these two things have never been combined before,” Villanelle admitted, cheek full of  _ my xao bo _ .

Eve hummed in agreement, nodding her head and pointing at Villanelle with her chopsticks. 

Dinner went smoothly; they talked about frivolous things and made plans for their next days off as they cleared the table. Villanelle retired to her home office to make sure everything was running smoothly for Eve’s surprise birthday party while the brunette went about her night routine only stopping when Eve knocked on Villanelle’s office door to let her know that the shower was free.

And so as the blonde cleaned off the stress from the day, letting it swirl down the drain along with her mint and argan oil conditioner, Eve got ready for bed. She lotioned her body, slipped on a t-shirt and underwear and hopped into their massive bed. By the time VIllanelle was done, Eve was nearly done responding to emails.

“How did your interview with Vogue go?” Villanelle asked as she slipped into bed beside Eve. Eve sighed, shutting her laptop and placing it on her nightstand.

“It was fine, I suppose.”

“Just fine?” Villanelle shimmied under the covers, throwing an arm around Eve’s waist.

Eve looked at Villanelle, running a hand down her smooth, make-up free face. “She wasn’t very interested in getting to know me.”

“What do you mean?”

“All she was interested in was getting to know more about you.”

Villanelle scoffed. “Fucking journalism is dead. Even the fashion bibles have become tabloids.”

“That’s true.” Eve reached over to turn out the light and then snuggled under the covers. Villanelle pulled her as close as possible, kissing her softly and playing in Eve’s damp curls.

“This is the best part of my day. I am happy that I get to do this with someone as incredible as you. I am sorry that that interviewer didn’t try to get to know just how brilliant and creative and special you are.”

Eve smiled and kissed Villanelle again. “Just say you want to get me naked.”

Villanelle wiggled her brows and, even in the dark, Eve saw. She rolled her own eyes, giggles turning into full-blown laughter as Villanelle tugged the duvet over their heads and rolled on top of Eve.

**Author's Note:**

> Vogue Italia is already 55, but creative license and all that jazz. 
> 
> this chapter is for Lauren who’s too smart for her own fucking good.


End file.
